


Extended Transmission: Take a Seat

by cybernya



Series: Translation Error [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23194552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybernya/pseuds/cybernya
Summary: Wolffe asks his alor'ika to sit on his face. Plain and simple PWP.
Relationships: CC-3636 | Wolffe/Original Character(s), CC-3636 | Wolffe/Reader
Series: Translation Error [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656553
Comments: 5
Kudos: 118





	Extended Transmission: Take a Seat

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of one (1) horny brain cell taking over.

Wolffe kisses you hungrily as you grab at his hair, legs wrapped around his waist. 

“Kriff you’re beautiful,” the commander whispers as he pulls away from your lips for a moment. His eyes scan your face, noticing how flushed you are and how your lower lip is swollen from lovebites. 

“You never get tired of saying that,” you mumble, hands at either side of his head as you attempt to move in to kiss him again. 

“Because it’s true, my alor’ika,” Wolffe hums, allowing you to close the gap with a searing kiss. He adjusts the hand under your ass as he moves towards his bed - something the pair of you have been attempting for the last thirty minutes - before biting at your lower lip. It’s hard, lower lip caught between his teeth, and you gasp, letting go as Wolffe finally sits on his bed, cradling you in his lap.

“Wolffe,” you gasp, tongue darting out to tenderly wet the raw skin. 

“You love it,” he smirks back, hands roaming up your sides. 

You swat at him playfully, legs still wrapped around his center. “I do,” you sigh as Wolffe leans in to bite at your neck, incisors pulling at the skin. You rock your hips, breath hitching - the commander smiles at this, moving down your neck to find the juncture at your shoulder, thick fingers pulling the collar of your blacks away from your skin.

“Mine,” he murmurs into the skin, biting and sucking a mark into the tender flesh.

You gasp, wriggling under his grip until he releases, tongue lapping at the bruise he left.

“I have an idea,” the commander smirks, smoothing his hands down your sides, thumbs slipping under the material of your top.

“Yeah?” you barely manage to get out, feeling hot and needy in his arms. You idly realize there’s  _ probably _ a wet spot in your blacks, but you’re too busy thinking about Wolffe’s hands sliding your top over your breasts to realize. 

“Should sit on my face,” Wolffe mumbles as he squeezes gently over your bra, eyes lazily trailing up to meet your gaze.

The lust in his good eye sends a chill down your spine and you swallow, nodding.

The commander pulls you from his lap and places you on the bed, a devilish look crossing his usually stoic features.

You’re in trouble now.

“Be a good girl and sit on your commander’s face,” he muses, positioning himself so that you’d be able to grab onto the headboard.

Your bottoms and panties soon hit the floor, top still bunched up over your breasts as you move to place yourself where Wolffe had asked. “Yes sir,” you chirp, knees at either side of his head.

“Look at you,” he whistles, “all mine.” Wolffe grazes a hand up your inner thigh as he admires the view, the way your stomach tightens at the gentle movement. His other hand trails up the back of your right thigh, fingertips kneading into the cleft of your as when he reaches it. “C’mon, let me taste you.”

You spread your knees a little wider against the bed as you lower yourself down onto Wolffe’s lips, the day-old stubble sharp against your thighs. It takes everything in you not to moan - you’re not quite sure you can control yourself at this moment, with the way Wolffe’s nose is brushing your clit and the way his tongue is spreading you.

The hand that was wandering your inner thigh finds purchase at your hip, squeezing firmly as you twitch, grinding down against his lips. Wolffe grunts in amusement, repeating the motion of his tongue fucking into you, drinking you up as if you were the only thing left in the world to taste. 

You fold in half, clutching the headboard for dear life as Wolffe pulls back to circle at your clit. You close your eyes in order to focus, but the tap on your ass signals that the commander wants you to look - wants you to be watching his gaze as he causes you to fall apart. 

“W-Wolffe,” you hiss, mouth hanging open as he edges you closer to orgasm, “kriff, Wolffe.”

He hums, vibrations running through your core - he loves causing your undoing, loves seeing you fall apart like this. The little breathy moans, the way his name falls so easily from his lips - it drives him wild. Wolffe pushes into you further, his chin grinding against you as you squirm.

It comes all too quickly - your mouth hangs open as you hold your breath, entire body shaking violently. For a moment you wonder if you’re squeezing your thighs too tightly, but the thought is gone as another wave of orgasms crash down on you. Goosebumps litter your skin and you wheeze, finally remember to breathe as your cry out, gasping for air as Wolffe holds you tightly against him. 

“A - Ah,  _ Wolffe -- _ ” you cry out, realizing that the commander is gunning for  _ overstimulation _ , adjusting to lap at your sensitive clit. “N- No,  _ please -” _

“Please what?” he growls from his position, and your mouth goes dry.

“P-Please, sir, n-no more, I - I -” you try to say as the flat spread of Wolffe’s tongue drives you to grind against his lips, a third release shaking you. Your thighs shake at the side of his head and he chuckles darkly, finally releasing the grip on your hip.

“That’s what I was looking for,” he muses, licking at his lips.

You blink down lazily at him, hardly able to remain upright as his hands help guide you down. It’s then that you notice how wet his chin is, your juices dribbling down his jawline - you’d made a right mess out of your commander.

Wolffe adjusts to help you lay down on the pillows next to him, your legs shaking as you finally stretch them out after what feels like forever. 

“Good job, my  _ alor’ika, _ ” he muses, brushing the hair from your damp forehead. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion takes you.


End file.
